


Friendly Fire

by Darknessalwaysfalls



Series: Triple A Attack [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - OCs, Apollyon, Apollyon - OC, Arlyn Ahbad - OC, Gen, Half-demon/half-angel - Apollyon, Main Character is an OC, OCs - Freeform, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Possession, Possession by bloodline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darknessalwaysfalls/pseuds/Darknessalwaysfalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arlyn Ahbad's Timestamp: A new hunter walks into the Roadhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Fire

It was early in the evening, around three, and business was slow so the Roadhouse was currently housing only six hunters. Three of them were conversing loudly around one of the pool tables on the right, likely bragging about their hunts. Two were off in the left corner quietly sipping beers with tired expressions. One was sitting at a table near the pair, head down and scribbling in an old beaten journal. No one was at the bar, probably due to the formidable woman behind the counter. Her no nonsense expression and sharp eyes betrayed a lifetime of dealing with tough customers. Her clean, straight, blond-brown hair seemed out of place on her heart-shaped face lined with wrinkles likely caused by stress. Being the widow of a hunter and the owner of the Roadhouse, she was well versed in the danger of serving their kind. Ellen watched the trio around the pool tables warily, making sure that they remained peaceful, while she cleaned the beer glasses behind the bar.

The door to the Roadhouse creaked opened. The hunters around the pool tables paused in their storytelling to appraise the newcomer. The new person must have been another hunter with their easily identifiable gait of caution and confidence. A frayed duffle bag was slung over one shoulder, probably carrying their life's possessions and weapons. Weirdly enough, the newcomer's lithe figure was hard to determine as either male or female. They wore faded black jeans tucked into high tough leather boots. A thick gray hoodie covered their torso snugly but the person's hood was up, shading their face. They made no move to remove it. Ignoring the other hunters' scrutiny, the new arrival headed straight for the bar. Setting the duffle bag on the last stool to the left, the new hunter sat next to it. The stranger folded their arms patiently while leaning forward on the dark wooden bar counter and waiting for Ellen to come closer to order. Their shoulders were held tightly, clear tension in her body. 

Ellen had been watching the new hunter since they walked in. She knew every hunter that had walked through the doors of her Roadhouse and it had been awhile since a new player had come. The newcomer somehow unsettled her. Her gut twisted slightly, setting her instincts on high alert. An interrogation disguised as friendly conversation was in order. Or maybe a few rule declarations. Ellen put down the glass and approached. The other hunters returned to their own business. Before the new costumer could order anything, Ellen stated her first demand. 

"I'll serve you only if you take off your hood." 

The hunter looked at her or at least Ellen thought she did.

"My face isn't the prettiest, mam'." A rough yet quiet alto voice politely stated. The hunter's face was turned in her direction and she could see her chapped lips and the tiny scar across them on the right side. The hood opening was heart shaped so the top half of her face was still shaded. Unlike the very male hunters, Ellen knew immediately the gender of the hunter once she was in her vicinity. Call it a mother's instinct or that the hunter was clearly hiding their identity amongst strangers which meant that they were either supernatural or ashamed of their looks. And guessing by the tiny scar on her lips and the nature of hunting, scars had to be the source of her discomfort. Only a woman would be ashamed of scars. Men would flaunt them as trophies. 

"Honey, no one will care how you look."

Ellen's reassurance was met with a one shouldered shrug and a grimace. But the stranger complied and drew back her hood with steady hands. A once pleasant if plain face greeted her. Short dark hair framed tanned skin. Dark eyebrows arched over odd, tired eyes. The irises were a weird mixture of silver, gray, and brown. High cheek bones added to the feminine appeal while her nose was slightly bigger than average but at least centered on her face. Three pale scars traveled from the side of her left cheek to her ear with three nicks in the cartilage showing where the swipe ended. Another pinker scar curled from her eyebrow to across her temple. Although her lips had that scar and were cracked, they were full. Her tan skin wasn't lined with age leading Ellen to believe that she was much younger than she was comfortable with. 

"Could I get a water and some fries?" The girl asked politely but without a friendly intonation. Her weird eyes told a slightly different story. They appeared calculating and guarded at first, but there was a softness to their depths. 

"Sure thing, honey." Ellen said and turned away to go grab the water and demand the fries. When she returned, she placed the glass in front of the newcomer and leaned forward across from her on the bar. Her unsmiling exterior seemed to soften slightly as she observed her customer lift the already sweating glass to her parched lips and take a measured sip. She didn't notice the concealed sniff her patron gave the water before actually tasting it. 

"So, what brings you to the Roadhouse?" The owner asked, more as a confirmation of the hunting life even though all the signs pointed to that profession. 

"I heard that this was the place to be." The young woman gave the vague answer, setting the glass down and looking up with an unreadable expression. Ellen raised an eyebrow. Looking back to the glass, the hunter sighed, letting some of the tension drop. 

"Mark Sawberry recommended this place." She finally said to the glass before talking another slow sip. Ellen searched her memory to match a face with the name. A young, twenty-something year old man with short white-blond hair and bright blue eyes came to mind along with his white smile, freckly pale skin, and scarred throat. 

"Ah, a good man. Decent hunter." Ellen affirmed. The newcomer nodded in agreement, sipping at the water. Ellen could remember his bubbly disposition sticking out like a sore thumb in the usually unhappy crowd. Uncommon personality, but average skills in the hunting environment. Mostly worked by himself on hunts involving spirits and poltergeists, but specialized in sirens, changelings, succubi, rawheads, and shtriga. Other hunters normally came to him for help with those, something he'd gladly give for a chance to kill the creatures. Ellen knew there was some backstory about that but even though he was more open than most, Mark never talked about his past. 

"Hey Ellen! Could we get another round of beer here?" One of the hunters at the pool tables called. Ellen whipped her head around and glared at the rude man. 

"You can come to the bar to get it, Don." Ellen retorted, annoyed.

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart." The imposing man smirked as he leaned back into the pool table. His husky figure was clad in red plaid and dirty jeans. Even from the bar and in dim lighting, Ellen could see his large bald spot surrounded by thinning hair although it probably helped that his skin was pasty white.

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me. You continue to press your luck, and you'll find yourself kicked out." Ellen snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. The hunter named Don just continued smirking. 

"Stop, Don. She'll kick your ass." One of the other men in the group said, Ellen remembered his name was James, but made no move to try to prevent any movement. Watching with bored dark eyes, his bearded face remained apathetic to situation. Don barely noticed his warning. The other man in the group stayed silent, but his tiny eyes glittered with suppressed anticipation. Ellen identified him as Luke. She had heard some disturbing rumors about the oddly gleeful hunter. Don turned back to the game with the smirk still present on his egg-shaped head. 

Ellen huffed in annoyance and returned her attention to the young woman in front of her. The new hunter had not even paid the hunters at the pool table any notice, as if she hadn't cared. In fact, she seemed to ignore even Ellen, but the hostess caught her glancing out of the corner of her eye at her as she continued to sip at her water. Ellen just leaned back and shook her head. 

"Sorry, about that.The name's Ellen Harvelle and this bar is always open to hunters, even to rude bastards like Don." She jerked a thumb over to the pool tables, before extending a hand to shake. The girl hesitated before finally shaking her hand. Ellen could feel the rough callouses scrape against her own. 

"Arlyn Ahbad." The hunter answered in her low, quiet voice. 

"So what information do you need?" Ellen picked up another rag and started cleaning the counter while she watched the girl retreat behind her glass of water. 

"I'm not really here for information as much as connections." Arlyn said. Her words only reinforced Ellen's thoughts that she was a newcomer to the profession although her scars confused the owner of the bar. 

"Well, it doesn't get busy here until later. If you want, I could hook you up with a couple of veterans who wouldn't mind passing on their knowledge."

The corner of Arlyn's mouth twitched before she could conceal it behind her glass as she took another sip. 

"That would be nice. Thank you." The girl said politely. Ellen nodded and went to the back to grab her contact book, picking up Arlyn's fries on the way. After giving her the fries, she sorted through the thick book. 

"Here," She grabbed a loose piece of paper and wrote a few names down and their corresponding numbers. "These are Bobby Singer's and Kyle Flannery's numbers." Ellen handed the paper to Arlyn and she took it, glancing at it briefly and slipping it into a pocket hidden in her sweatshirt. "They are more friendly than some, although Singer is a little paranoid so he will probably make you pass a couple of tests before letting you in." 

Arlyn nodded and picked at her fries. 

"Look," Ellen leaned forward, meeting those silver-brown eyes with a serious stare. She had to proposition. Her emotions from watching the quiet, solemn hunter were so conflicted at how young she had to be, younger than even her Jo. "This life is hard. If you can get out, save yourself the heartbreak and please do. I have a tenant who can smooth over any trouble and the Roadhouse has rooms."

The girl impassively stared back, watching Ellen's face intently. She straightened in her seat and for a moment Ellen thought she had offended the young woman. But the hunter didn't stand up or reach for her duffel next to her.

"There's nothing to go back to, mam'." Arlyn stated firmly. "And I have been doing this alone for some years now and with family for many years before that." Ellen sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry, but I have no desire to stop." She paused then in a surprising show of emotion, she smiled softly, her odd eyes losing their guard and warmth coloring her dark alto voice lightly. "Thank you for your offer though, Ms. Harvelle, it means a lot." 

Ellen forced a smile, trying to cover her sorrow at the implications of her words and her sudden fierce attachment to this extremely polite and quiet young woman. "Please, call me Ellen."

The hunter's smile widened briefly with appreciation coloring her expression. "Okay, I will, Ellen." After a moment, the smile disappeared, but her eyes stayed friendly and warm. The elder patron at the table politely called for Ellen. When she took care of his order and returned to Arlyn, the young hunter had finished her fries and water. 

"You want anything else?"

"No, I'm good, thank you. Could you please direct me to a nearby motel though?" She took out a roll of money from her pocket and began flipping through it for the correct amount for the bill. Ellen shook her head. 

"No, it's on the house. Save it for your motel room. There's one only two miles down the road with a decent price. Turn right when you get out of the Roadhouse, you can't miss it." 

Arlyn hesitated, pursing her chapped lips, before finally stuffing the roll away. "Thank you." She stood up from her stool and grabbed her duffle bag. "I will see you later tonight. Thank you again for everything." She said solemnly, her eyes stressing her words and allowing Ellen to see depths of her sorrow and gratitude before becoming guarded once more. Flipping her hood back up, Arlyn slung the duffle bag over one shoulder lightly and turned and started walking out of the hunter bar. At the last moment, Ellen noticed the rude hunter from before saunter towards Arlyn. 

"Hey! You a newbie?" He reached and made to grab her arm. Arlyn shifted her torso ever so slightly so that he grabbed at air and she slid by him, ignoring his presence. The short expression of surprise on Don's pasty face turned into anger. 

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Don finally managed to grab her free shoulder. Arlyn's reaction was instantaneous. She dropped the duffle, whirled around, knocked his hand away and twisted his arm painfully behind his back, forcing him to her level, then brought a concealed knife to his neck in one motion. Ellen couldn't even determined where the knife had emerged from. The speed at which the young hunter had moved was incredible, completely sinuous and she wasn't even breathing any harder than before. A choked gasp of pain left the surprised man's thin lips. The other hunters in the bar suddenly were tense with their hands on the guns shoved in their waistbands. Arlyn held him there as the shocked and tense silence stretched. She spoke quietly but clearly so that every hunter in the Roadhouse could hear.

"I'm no newbie. Treat me with respect and you will receive the same. Don't touch me again, Don Cliff. I will walk out of here uncontested and you will let me." When Don jerked at her words, anger burning in his eyes, she tightened her grip. 

"Ow! Okay! Okay! Just fuckin' let me go!" He said hurriedly. She suddenly let go and he lost his balanced and tumbled to the floor. The knife disappeared and she re-slung her duffle bag before pivoting and leaving out the door. Don got up and made to go after her. 

"Don," Ellen called dangerously. "You go after that woman and I can guarantee that if I hear about it, you will never be welcomed here again."

Don's eyes bulged. "That's a woman- but she-"

"You make one more sexist comment and you will no longer be allowed back regardless." Ellen said, threatening. Don scowled and went back to the group of hunters near the pool tables. The man that had warned him before to not mess with Ellen gave him an incredulous look. 

"What?" Don snapped. 

"You wrestled with a werewolf? Yeah, right." The bearded man shook his head. "You couldn't even shake a woman half your size."

"What? But she took me by surprise, James!" Don said in unsteady indignation. 

"I'll say." The man scoffed. James got up from his chair and put on a black leather jacket, turning his back on the disgruntled hunter. 

"Put it on my tab, I'll be back tonight." He said to Ellen, saluting her before leaving the Roadhouse. Don grumbled as he returned to his seat across the remaining hunter. Ellen sighed. She should really stock up on bandages before the busy hour began. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
